


Gone for Good

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Collars, Demon Dean, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean smiles that scary smile he gets right before his eyes turn inky black, the smile that means he's going to make Sam hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone for Good

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer 2015 round of salt-burn-porn for the prompt _She asked, "Are you cursed? I said, "I think that I'm cured."_

Sam lies on the bed, waiting for Dean, one hand on his cock while he fingers himself open with the other as Dean had instructed. He's so hard, so ready to be fucked, but Dean is making him wait, torturing him. Sam doesn't mind.

"You live to please me," Dean had whispered a few days ago, and so it was true.

Dean saunters in, gives Sam that smirk of his that Sam thinks, maybe, used to drive him crazy for different reasons. Hears an echo in his brain, his voice telling Dean to stop being such an ass. Now that smirk just turns him on like nothing else.

"You close?" he asks, eyeing Sam's cock, and Sam nods quickly.

"Please, I need--"

"Don't come."

Sam nods again but he doesn't stop touching himself, hasn't been told to. He's not worried about coming before Dean allows it, is physically incapable of coming unless Dean allows it.

Dean watches him for several minutes as Sam slides slick fingers into his hole, thumbs the wet slit of his cock, his desperate whines rising in volume.

"Stop."

Sam's hands still immediately and he watches Dean, waiting, chest heaving and body trembling with need.

Dean pulls out a set of chains from the trunk at the foot of the bed and throws them to Sam. "Nice and tight," he says, and Sam clips them to his leather ankle restraints, spreads his legs as far as he can, reaches forward to hook them to the bolts on Dean's bed posts. He lies back on his elbows and waits.

"So obedient Sam, so good for me."

Sam smiles.

"For once in your fucking life."

Sam cringes at that, at the thought that he'd ever been anything but a hundred percent subservient to Dean. Dean who is everything, who Sam lives to please.

Dean doesn't chain his hands to the bed, instead clipping his leather cuffs together behind Sam's back. He presses Sam down on the bed, back arching over his wrists, silver buckles and leather digging into the skin around Sam's spine. He clips Sam's collar to the headboard, runs a calloused thumb along Sam's flushed cheek.

"You'd do anything for me Sam, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, Dean." Just the thought of doing anything, everything, for Dean makes his body thrill.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. That's why I'm so fucking bored right now."

Sam's feels his eyes prick with tears as he watches Dean leave.

 

_  
"This really shouldn't be possible," Sam said, frowning as he studied the ledger with that look he got sometimes when something unnatural tripped up his logic center._

_Dean snorted. "What part of any of this should be possible?" he asked, gesturing around at the shelves stacked with evil artifacts. Sam had gotten it in his head that they needed to catalog all the cursed objects they'd picked up in Portland and Buffalo, cross reference them with the Men of Letters archives to figure out how dangerous they were, and determine what items might still be in circulation._

_"It says that thing," Sam said, pointing to the innocuous looking wooden box containing something called the Sorcerer's Apprentice, 'can compel the wearer to obedience on a cellular level.' That's like, biologically impossible."_

_Dean shrugged. He'd heard this all before, most recently when they came across another skinwalker last month, and Sam wouldn't shut up about matter being created and destroyed._

_"Do I have to give you the 'monsters are real' talk again? What about wendigoes? Those dudes only eat every twenty years, how is that biologically possible?" Dean patted his stomach and thought about heading up to the kitchen to make a couple of burgers._

_"Yeah, but hibernation's a natural state of inactivity, there's examples of it in mammals, reptiles, amph--"_

_But Dean had already tuned him out, mentally inventorying the kitchen and wondering if they had the makings for chili cheeseburgers.  
_

 

Dean strokes the ancient iron that circles Sam's throat, that keeps him safe with Dean, and Sam hums, pleased.

"Would you die for me, Sam?"

"I...of course."

Dean's hand tightens around his throat, cutting off his air, and Sam closes his eyes and waits, happy that Dean is pleased with him again.

But Dean pulls his hand away just as spots begin blooming in Sam's vision and begins stripping off his clothes, and Sam likes this better, likes knowing that Dean still wants him, likes being open and ready for Dean to use.

Dean enters him roughly and Sam cries out, fingernails digging into his palms behind his back, ass clenching around the hot length of Dean's cock. He tugs lazily at Sam's balls, says "You can come now," and Sam arches up, cock spurting onto his own chest, a happy buzzing in his brain telling him he was good, he was obedient.

Then Dean leans over, looks him in the eye, and smiles that scary smile he gets right before his eyes turn inky black, the smile that means he's going to make Sam hurt.

"As you were," he whispers, and Sam cries out, brain exploding in pain, psychic migraine level pain, as his neural pathways rewire themselves, as all the orders Dean has given him over the past few days fall away until Sam's mind is his own again.

"Oh God," he says, struggling against the chains that, Jesus fuck, he had put on _himself_ because Dean ordered him to. 

"Dean! Stop it!" he shouts, trying to buck Dean off.

Dean screws into him, fast and dirty, cheeks pink with exertion. "You didn't want me to stop a couple of minutes ago, Sammy. You were begging for it." He snaps his hips for emphasis and Sam groans. He thinks he's going to be sick, turns his head away so he doesn't have to see Dean watching him, laughing at him.

"See?" Dean says, running a finger through the cooling come on Sam's belly and rubbing it onto Sam's pursed lips. "Can't get enough of your big brother's cock, can you?"

Sam's stomach roils. "Dean, stop, this isn't you, it's that goddamn thing on your arm, it's fucking cursed—"

"You used to like it rough, Sammy, and I know you don't mind fucking demons."

Sam closes his eyes, remembers the handful of times they had done this willingly, scared or drunk or lonely or just so damned glad they were both alive; shared nights together never spoken of in the light of day. But it had never been cruel, never been....

"Dean, stop, not like this—"

"Quiet, Sammy."

And Sam can feel it like an itch in his skull, some line of communication between his brain and his vocal cords severed, and he lays beneath Dean, silent, while Dean throws his head back and comes with a hiss.

 

Someone's been a busy beaver, _Dean thought as he let himself into the bunker. The library table was overloaded with books and papers, but he ignored them, headed to Sam's room, the secret wall compartment he thought Dean didn't know about, and there it was. A small leather-bound book (and Dean didn't think was cowhide) with everything Sam needed to 'cure' him of Cain's curse._

_Dean had laid a trap down in Oklahoma to get Sam out of the bunker. Sam thought he was tailing Dean but it was just some minion of Crowley's. He'd be home in a few hours, demon blood caked beneath his nails, and Dean would have everything ready for him._

_He pocketed the book and then headed to the storage room to see about that sorcerer's collar, wondered if it really worked. He didn't think Sam would be too pleased when Dean told him he was coming home for good, that things were gonna change._

 

Dean dresses, says he thinks he could use a beer. He unchains Sam, who watches him carefully as he eases himself up to a sit.

"Follow me," Dean says, and Sam rises from the bed on trembling legs, wincing at the mess of Dean's come slipping down his thighs. He reaches for his boxers but Dean snaps, "No," so he follows, helpless and naked, eyes darting to the side when they pass his room, where he'd hidden the book he needs to fix all this.

In the lounge Dean cracks open a beer while Sam sits at his feet, thinking, thinking. He just needs a minute. Grab the book, figure out what he needs for the spell--he remembers all the ingredients but they had to be added in a specific and convoluted order because of course they did, nothing's ever easy for the Winchesters--and he has no idea how he's supposed to get his hands on any of it with this freaking collar around his neck.

But he'll figure it out, they always figure this stuff out, he just needs Dean to pay a little less attention to him for a few minutes, when he's not completely mind fucked or chained up….

He jumps when Dean throws the journal on the coffee table in front of him.

"Looking for this?" he asks as he takes a swig of his drink.

Fuck.

Sam eyes him, eyes the book, wonders if he can move quickly enough. He makes a dive for it, cradling it close to his chest, and turns questioning eyes to Dean.

"You can have it, Sammy. It's not like you can read."

No, no, there's no way…he flips it open to the middle and he makes out the word 'blood' but then Dean says, slowly and clearly, "Sam, you can't read," and it's true, there's that horrible itch in his brain again and then it's like looking at ants marching along the paper, no pattern that his brain can interpret. He looks at Dean, horrified, looks at the El Sol Dean's drinking but Sam only knows what it is because of the black and gold label. The letters are meaningless.

"I mean, I could just make you blind and deaf again, that was quite a week, huh? Seeing you jump every time I touched you? But this way you still get to watch me fuck you up."

Sam shakes his head quickly; that had been a _terrible_ week, trapped with the thing that used to be his brother, helpless even when he wasn't in chains. But this....

"And you can stop with the sad eyes, Sammy. What d'you need to read for anyway?"

He plucks the slim journal from Sam's hands and throws it into a ceramic bowl, pulls out his Zippo and lights it up. Sam watches in dismay as the brittle pages catch easily, tries not to think about Dean patiently teaching him to sound out words so many years, lifetimes, ago.

"See, you think I'm cursed, but the truth is I feel better than I ever have. Stronger. Isn't that what you told me once?"

Sam watches the book smolder in the bowl, lost.

"Now come on over here and suck my cock like a good little bitch."

He tries to resist but it's useless; his body moves on its own.

"That's right, you love sucking my cock."

And Sam finds that he does.

 

_  
"Tell me the truth, Sam. Best chili cheeseburger you ever had, right?"_

_Sam gave him a look, but at least he was eating, and Dean grinned around a mouthful of food. It was a fucking great burger._

_"Maybe I'll try that sorcerers thingy out on you, Sam. Then you won't keep forgetting my damn pie when you run to the store."_

_"Ha ha, Dean. That thing is seriously bad news."_

_"Well, I hate to break it to you, but we're sitting on a whole mess of bad news down here."_

_"Yeah." Sam looked worried, snuck a glance at the livid red scar on Dean's arm, but Dean was in too good a mood tonight. His belly was full, there was beer in the fridge, he and Sam were mostly getting along._

_Dean was worried about the mark too, but he knew they'd figure something out. They always did.  
_


End file.
